A stifling heatwave and a bout of nostalgia

The British obsession with the weather runs deep. Anyone living in Blighty soon falls in line, there are no two ways about it. As for me, all year I moan about the cold weather to anyone who'll listen. Until the dreaded heatwave arrives. It's hot, sticky and humid and we are all bloody miserable. And yes, I'm still moaning.

I think I first saw the work of T.S. Harris in Palm Springs, maybe it was in a hotel lobby. I was immediately struck by her large colorful canvases, so brimming with subtle nostalgia and timeless glamour. They brought back memories of Esther Williams, Veronica Lake and the other divas whose movies I grew up watching. But I also saw well-put together housewives with flawless complexions and hairspray hairdos, their superficially perfect suburban lives and the secrets they could never share.

But mostly I think I see the representation of the aesthetics of the American dream in all its enduring allure: deep blue swimming pools, windswept ocean beaches, perfectly shaped Barbie-like women. That is everything I wanted to have and to be. You know, in the 70s Italy was troubled by what felt like an endless string of bombings and assassinations, and we really did grow up believing everything was bigger, better and easier in America.

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Swim Time

Ocean View

Bikini Girl

The Swimming Pool

All images © T.S. Harris